


A Collection of One

by CainReprobus



Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Genre: Gen, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7846078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CainReprobus/pseuds/CainReprobus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wallenstein had never cared for dolls.</p><p>There were a multitude of factors that could contribute to this opinion, most notably, the fact that he was indeed The Dark Sorcerer Wallenstein. What man with a title as grim and intimidating as that would spend his free time idly fiddling with replicas of beings when he could be wreaking havoc among the real ones? It was illogical. What fun could he have with something that couldn’t even scream or cry when he tore it apart? What joy could he find in something that didn’t bleed? </p><p>There was no point if his victim didn’t bleed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Collection of One

**Author's Note:**

> just a short a0 drabble concept i've had the idea for for like... ever lmao. finally got around to it!! hope you enjoy!

Wallenstein had never cared for dolls.

There were a multitude of factors that could contribute to this opinion, most notably, the fact that he was indeed The Dark Sorcerer Wallenstein. What man with a title as grim and intimidating as that would spend his free time idly fiddling with replicas of beings when he could be wreaking havoc among the real ones? It was illogical. What fun could he have with something that couldn’t even scream or cry when he tore it apart? What joy could he find in something that didn’t bleed? 

There was no point if his victim didn’t bleed.

Lack of exposure was certainly not the problem. One whimsical and hare-brained Lute Infini was, strangely enough, quite the connoisseur. Where he got them was always a bit of a mystery, but it couldn’t be put out of the question that he simply summoned them out of thin air. After all, that was his specialty. If he really stretched his memory, Wallenstein would perhaps recall a man named Avies Aurum as the source of some of them… but that was simply too much effort. It’s not like he would ever be relevant to him again. In fact, it’s not like he was ever truly relevant to begin with.

“ _Come on, Isa! Just use your imagination! Can’t you loosen up and have a bit of fun?_ ”

“ _I don’t see the point. I am here to aide you in alchemy, not waste time fooling with toys._ ”

“ _Always so uptight, you are! Haha, suit yourself. I guess what they say about demons is true. You’re all work and no play._ ”

That wasn’t true. The two just had very different definitions of “fun”. Wallenstein’s involved a lot more torture.

For the first time in his life, however, Wallenstein had found himself smitten with a doll. It was pale like porcelain, tall, and well-crafted. He had only recently obtained it, but already knew he treasured it above all of his other possessions. It was a unique model, one of a kind, and even from a well-respected company. The sheer beauty it held took Wallenstein’s breath away, as though he were a doll himself. But even so… this doll breathed.

Admittedly, he had not been given what he’d ordered.

His toy now sat in a grand, elegant armchair in Wallenstein’s main room. It technically came with a name: Cain Reprobus, a highly respected knight of Jaere. It was actually another Reprobus, his subject’s brother, Seere, that he had originally sought, and it was for him that he devised this shackling curse. Unexpectedly, this foolish brat had thrown himself into the mix and become the target of the spell. Why would one doll exchange itself for another? Wallenstein simply didn’t know. What was there to gain in sacrificing oneself? There must always be something to gain. Despite all the confusion, it didn’t matter which Reprobus he had under his control. So long as there was one of them, and so long as he was but a doll.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Wallenstein approached it. He trusted well enough in the staying ability of his curses, yet even so, he had the slightest tinge of fear that suddenly it might stir. Stopping about three feet away from the chair, Wallenstein leaned his cheek against his hand. Cain’s–no, this doll’s–eyes were open and glassy, yet its eyelids drooped. Its mouth hung open ever so slightly, but nothing, nothing at all moved. In its entirety, this body was truly a blank slate. Now all Wallenstein needed to do was mold it.

He sighed. What a chore. He never cared much for dress-up.

“Do you hear me, servant?”

Its eyes seemed to light up gold, and its face turned slightly towards the direction of his voice, “Yes, sir.”

Wallenstein stared for a moment. His slave was at attention, ready to be commanded, and yet he was unsure how to proceed. He _could_ simply leave his doll as it was and get to business, but despite being unsure of how to change it, he knew he wasn’t content with its current state. What was it that Lute had always said, anyway?

_”Dolls are all yours to customize, Isa! Don’t you think that’s amazing? This way, you can let your creativity run free…”_

Clicking his tongue, Wallenstein rolled his eyes. He had never been very creative, but this doll was his first work of art. Not to give it a title seemed a shame. He cleared his throat and continued.

“Your name… do you have one?”

The doll seemed to pause, as if in thought. It didn’t blink.

“No.”

Racking his brain, Wallenstein scrambled to come up with a fitting title. It was taking all too long. This truly wasn’t his strong suit. He grumbled and held his forehead. This was a nightmare.

He blinked.

“You… are Knightmare,” he announced.

Its eyes seemed to glow ever brighter, and it nodded, “I am Knightmare.”

A wicked smirk flickered onto Wallenstein’s face. Knightmare. Simple, a little lame, but he liked it. With the name out of the way, and faintly glowing eyes waiting in anticipation for his next command, he was finally beginning to enjoy this. Staring into those eyes, he wondered if the real Cain, locked in dark depths beyond recognition, could somehow see the shell his old self had become. The blank, lifeless expression on Knightmare’s face managed to tell a tale of woe, as though the shell itself were bitter. However, the misery of this Reprobus fool was simply a cherry on top. The real goal… was Himnesia.

 _That_ would cause suffering like none before it. Knightmare was just a vassal.

While he scanned Knightmare up and down, it occurred to Wallenstein just how gaudy and… _heroic_ his doll’s current armor was. Biting his inner lip, he pondered how he should change it. _Think artistically,_ he commanded himself, _Like Lute… and like… what was his name again? No matter..._ He pondered for some time, staring into Knightmare’s lifeless, glowing eyes.

Finally, he decided. With a tome in one arm, he reached out the other, palm open, towards Knightmare. A red light blossomed around him and he spoke some cursed words. Tendrils of the light reached out and ensnared Knightmare, who barely reacted. It simply let the light engulf its body, and after a few moments it dispersed. In place of the pale blue and yellow armor of a knight of Jaere, Wallenstein had conjured a vigilante’s garb, dark and conforming, with plates of gold. That golden glow in his grey-blue eyes… that had inspired him. As a finishing touch, the beautiful violet rose Cain had worn about his neck was replaced by a shining golden lock. Wallenstein couldn’t help but snicker as he took it all in. If this was dress-up, it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

Adjusting his collar in pride, Wallenstein addressed his subordinate, “Listen to me, Knightmare.”

Knightmare looked up in his direction.

“Stand and kneel.”

Without hesitation, Knightmare rose from the chair, stepping forward slightly and dropping to one knee, “How can I serve you, master?”

Wallenstein scoffed in amusement, moving closer and tilting up Knightmare’s chin, “I am on a… shall we say _valiant_ , mission to destroy the world, my slave. You shall be the driving force behind that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are quite obedient, Knightmare,” Wallenstein mocked, “Are you sure you have no qualms with this plan? The Blight Tree Rufa, engulfing the world?”

Knightmare hesitated. Wallenstein grinned. That pause? He was certain it was Cain’s.

“I am bound to serve you, master. That is all I am.”

“Good,” Wallenstein laughed, “That’s noble of you. You’re so… _selfless._ ”

He was on a roll today, with the puns. He almost wished Lute were there to hear them. Almost.

“Now, my precious servant,” Wallenstein cooed in Knightmare’s ear, “Are you ready to bring eternal darkness to the world?”

“I am, sir.”

“That’s what I thought you would say, Knightmare. I shall call upon you later,” Wallenstein sneered, then casting his eyes to the distance, to a realm only he could see, “And as for you, Cain Reprobus? May your soul rest in darkness of it’s own…”

At those words, the glow in Knightmare’s eyes faded back to a dull, slate blue. It remained in a kneeling position, but it was motionless. Lifeless. Still as the grave.

It was a vassal for his power, a shell to be filled, but when all was said and done, this Knightmare was merely a doll.


End file.
